


i can't believe that the axis turns on suffering

by forfree



Category: Performer RPF
Genre: A FOLLOWUP TO MY LAST AUBREYONCÉ FIC TBH, F/M, but u dont have to read that one to get with this one!, porn with some plot i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7312396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forfree/pseuds/forfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drake comes home to Beyoncé after touring for months. They have a lot of things (read: sex) to catch up on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't believe that the axis turns on suffering

On the flight home from his final tour stop, Drake can’t seem to relax. After six months of skyping, phone sex, and texting, he’s finally going to be able to see Beyoncé face to face again. The mere thought of seeing his girlfriend is enough to make him want to get to her as fast as humanly possible, but she also told him that she’d have a surprise for him when he got home. 

 

He’s thinking so hard about her that, before he knows it, the plane lands and he’s rushing past people asking for pictures and information about things that aren’t very important to him at the moment. Everything is a blur. He’s got his mind on Beyoncé; he’s counting down the minutes until he’ll be able to touch her and hear her laugh and talk and sing without the sound being weighed down by technological static and fuzz. 

 

Tick tock.

 

* * *

 

On the drive home, Drake taps his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. He thinks about what Beyoncé could possibly have up her sleeve. She could be waiting for him at the top of their staircase, wearing the lingerie he bought for her on their anniversary for all he knew- he just knew that he was willing to go with anything she did. Stomach filled with butterflies, he looks at the road ahead; the sun is setting and the sky is a collection of fiery oranges and gentle pinks, and it makes a nice backdrop for the houses that line the horizon.

 

Drake pulls into the winding driveway in front of his and Beyoncé’s home, sighing as he shuts the car off and grabs his bags. When he walks into the house, he’s met with silence. The lights aren’t on. In fact, the only light he sees comes from the clock on the microwave, which says that it’s eight twenty-seven at night.

 

He leaves his bags on the floor where he’s standing and starts to climb the stairs. “Bey?” he calls out, “I’m home.”

 

As he nears the top of the stairs, he’s relieved to see that the lights are on up there. Almost as if he’s on autopilot, he makes a beeline for the bedroom he shares with Beyoncé, peeling off his hoodie as he walks. After accidentally bumping into the doorframe due to his temporary lack of sight, he stills when he hears a giggle, and he proceeds to pull his hoodie over his head with a scowl.

 

The room is dim, and he sees Beyoncé sitting on the edge of the bed, legs crossed at her ankles. She’s wearing his black Raptors jersey and some bold, red lipstick; aside from that, Drake doesn’t think she’s wearing much else. She stands up and the hem of the jersey rests a few inches above her knees. Even in the low light of the room, she’s glowing.

 

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to say hello?” Beyoncé says with a smile.

 

Drake bolts over to her, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up. “Fuck,” he says as peppers kisses all over Beyonce’s cheeks, “I missed you so much. I missed you so damn much, Bey.”

 

Beyoncé laughs and wraps her legs around Drake’s waist. “I missed you too, Aubrey,” she says, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

 

Drake lifts Beyoncé a little higher and grips her thighs, making sure that he doesn’t drop her, and sits on the bed. He pauses, taking a moment to admire Beyoncé; gaze flickering from her cherry-colored pout to her light-filled and kind eyes. He looks at the freckles that are on her neck and around her collarbones. 

 

Beyoncé jumps and causes Drake to be startled out of his trance.

 

“Oh, I got something for us,” Beyoncé says, getting out of Drake’s lap. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

 

Drake frowns at the lack of warmth and affection, but he quickly forgets about all of that when he watches Beyoncé rush out of the room. He smiles and bites his lip as he watches the way her ass moves when she runs. Her body was something that he never wasted an opportunity to appreciate. From head to toe, she was astounding. Her smooth, long legs, the curves that make up her frame, her gentle hands- everything about her was unbelievable.

 

She comes back into the room with a bottle of champagne and two plastic cups. “I’ll let you pick first,” she tells Drake, holding a green cup and a yellow cup out for him to choose from.

 

“Beyoncé,” Drake says, “you know we have champagne flutes on the top shelf, right?”

 

“Does it look like I can reach that?” Beyoncé asks.

 

Drake chuckles. “Give me the yellow cup.”

 

Beyoncé grins. “Yes! I was gonna make you pick that one anyway.” She hands Drake his cup and goes to open the champagne, but pauses. “You know what? I think we’ll save this for later. There’s no time.”

 

“Oh,” Drake begins as he watches Beyoncé toss the cups aside and put the champagne on her bedside table. She climbs into his lap and straddles him. He grins. “This is good too.”

 

Drake pulls Beyoncé toward him to kiss her, and she cooperates by meeting him halfway, her plush lips meeting his softly. He feels her grab his shoulders and wonders how her lingering touch isn’t burning through his shirt and into his skin. Their foreheads keep bumping against each other, and they giggle each time it happens. Beyoncé’s hands find their way under Drake’s shirt, one of them resting on his toned stomach and the other stroking his side. 

 

Her hands still suddenly and she inhales sharply as he sucks at her bottom lip. She tastes like strawberries and Drake figures that she must’ve had some before he got home; the taste reminds him of when he’d fed them to Beyoncé while they were on a date a few months ago.

 

Drake’s hands grip Beyoncé’s waist for a short time before they slide down to rest on her ass. He gives it a soft squeeze and she arches into the touch. Tentatively, his tongue brushes against Beyoncé’s and she opens her mouth, deepening the kiss and making them both more fervent than before.

 

Beyoncé stops kissing him and grabs the hem of Drake’s shirt. Humming disapprovingly, he grabs her wrists. 

 

“No,” he breathes, letting go of her wrists so that he can wrap his arms around her and pull her flush against him.

 

“No,” Beyoncé repeats softly. “I don’t like it when you tell me that.”

 

Drake stands up and lays Beyoncé on the bed. “No,” he says again, slotting himself in between her open legs and hovering over her, arms on either side of her head to support himself. He dips his head down, lips grazing the shell of her ear as he continues to speak. “You’ll get what you want after I get what I want, and what I want is for you to let me eat you out.”

 

Drake kisses Beyoncé’s neck, biting and sucking on the smooth skin. He smiles as he hears her sigh quietly. 

 

“Putting your needs before mine,” Beyoncé mutters, the lightness in her voice unmistakable. “How typical. How selfish.”

 

Drake chuckles. “I think you know just as well as I do that we both need this.” 

 

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” Beyoncé asks, putting a hand on Drake’s chest and pushing him away, prompting him to slide back until his head was in between her thighs. 

 

“No more waiting,” Drake whispers, biting at the inside of her thigh.

 

Beyoncé sucks a breath in sharply. “Stop fucking around.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Drake says teasingly, getting on his knees and running a hand up Beyoncé’s thigh, fingers pushing up her shirt. His hands stop when he feels fabric covering her hipbone. He would complain about the fact that she’s wearing underwear, but she’s wearing the lacy, white panties that he’d bought for her some time ago, and those are his favorite ones. 

 

“I thought you’d like those- but I think we’d both like them better if they were on the floor, so stop stalling, Aubrey,” Beyoncé says firmly.

 

“Get up,” Drake says. Beyoncé gets out of the bed and goes to stand in front of Drake, who turns around to look at her and leans back, resting on his elbows. “Take those panties off for me.”

 

Beyoncé bites her lip, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and looking Drake in the eye as she begins to pull them down, wiggling her hips.

 

“Give me a show, turn around,” Drake tells her, sick of wasting time but also not being able to get enough of the way they teased each other.

 

“Yes, sir,” Beyoncé says with a smirk as she obliges. 

 

The way she slowly slides her panties down the curve of her ass makes Drake’s breath catch in his throat. “Fuck,” he mutters as he watches her bend over to pick them up off of the ground and toss them out of her way. He can feel himself start to get hard and he breathes out a sigh. 

 

She looks over her shoulder at him and smiles before she pulls his jersey up and over her head, leaving her in a bra that matches her panties. 

 

Drake makes a noise of approval. “Come here.”

 

Beyoncé walks over to him and straddles him, pushing him down so that he’s on his back. She strokes his cheek and runs her thumb across his bottom lip. “Mind if I take a seat here?”

 

He swallows thickly as he looks up at her. “No.”

 

Beyoncé inches closer to Drake’s face, and when she’s close enough, he wraps his arms around her thighs and pulls her down. He licks at her eagerly with flat, broad strokes; her pussy is warm and wet on his tongue and she moans softly, shivering above him. Drake would tell her how good she tastes and how alluring she was if he weren’t preoccupied. She keens and her hips jerk when he sucks on her clit, and he tightens his hold on her thighs so that she can’t move.

 

“Babe,” Beyoncé tells him shakily. “You don’t know how much I missed this- you don’t know how much I missed you.” 

 

His eyes meet hers and she squirms in his grip, trying to move her hips in time with him as his mouth works on her. He moans at the sight of her slowly coming undone right before his eyes and the harsh sounds of her shouting and her hands slapping the wood of their headboard ring out through the room. 

 

“Good,” Beyoncé praises, her voice rough. “Fuck- I love having you like this.”

Drake’s eagerness turns into deliberation as he licks slowly at Beyoncé’s clit, and he breathes harshly out of his nose when she whimpers his name. He takes an arm from around her thigh and his hand rests on her side. She decides to grab it, lacing their fingers together. She tips her head back and every bone in Drake’s body aches for her despite the fact that he has her with him already.

 

“Baby, more,” she breathes. “I’m so close.”

 

His tongue circles her clit and she starts to grind her hips against his face. He decides that he should let her do what she wants, so he lets go of her thighs completely. She groans and moves against his tongue rhythmically. 

 

“Aubrey,” Beyoncé whines, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

 

His free hand drags from her thigh up to her ass, and he digs his fingers into the soft skin there, pushing her against his face a little harder as he applies pressure to her clit with his tongue. She comes with a choked-out moan, hips stuttering and thighs clamping around his ears. She holds his gaze as she rides out her orgasm; she’s practically glowing- he feels like he’s in a hazy dream as he looks on. Hearing her say his name like it’s something sacred stirs fire up in the pit of his stomach and his cock strains against the fabric of his jeans.

 

He moans again and Beyoncé’s hips jerk fiercely. “Aubrey!” she says, voice bordering on a shout, “Stop, no more, oh my God.” With that, she gets off of him and lies beside him.

 

As she catches her breath, Drake turns on his side and looks at her, licking his lips and tasting her come.

 

“Welcome home,” Beyoncé says softly, turning to look into Drake’s eyes. She sits up and straddles him. “It almost felt like you’d never be back.”

 

Drake sits up and kisses her sweetly. “I know what you mean.”

 

Beyoncé’s fingers grasp at the hem of his shirt. “I love you.”

 

Drake smiles. “Are you saying that because you really love me or because you just sat on my face?” 

 

“Shut up,” Beyoncé giggles. She pulls Drake’s shirt up and her eyes roam up and down his torso as he lifts his arms and his shirt goes over his head. Nothing but solid muscle meets her fingertips as she lays a hand on his chest and frowns.

 

Drake scowls. “What?”

 

“You’re overdressed,” Beyoncé answers. She quickly unbuckles Drake’s belt, and he lifts his hips off of the bed. She fumbles with the button on his jeans, biting her lip as her delicate hands brushed against his hard cock; as she pulls his pants off, he sighs.

 

“Better?” Drake asks.

 

Beyoncé palms him through his boxers and smiles as he moans. “Definitely.”

 

Drake pats Beyoncé’s thigh. “Get up, let’s go downstairs.”

 

Beyoncé frowns. “Why can’t we stay here and just-”

 

“You’ll see. Come on, get up,” Drake says. 

 

“Fine,” Beyoncé says, getting out of bed.

 

Drake follows suit and grabs Beyoncé’s hand, their fingers intertwined as they make their way down their spiraled staircase. When they get to the bottom of the stairs, Drake turns to Beyoncé and rests a hand on her waist and pulls her closer. “Hey, look at me.”

 

Drake places a finger under Beyoncé’s chin and tilts her face up. “I love you,” he says softly. “You won’t ever know how much I missed you- how much I missed everything about you.” 

 

He leans down and presses his lips to hers, instantly relishing in the softness of them. Beyoncé trails her hand down Drake’s toned abdomen and slips it into his boxers, using the precome leaking from the head of his cock to get her hand slick enough to stroke him. He moans into the kiss, fingers digging into Beyoncé’s side roughly. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath.

 

* * *

  
  


“I really need to fuck you,” Drake breathes, backing Beyoncé into the wall behind her. “Need to fuck you right against this wall, need to hear you say my name.”

 

Beyoncé stands on the tips of her toes and wraps her arms around Drake’s neck. “Get on with it, then.”

 

Drake pushes his boxers the rest of the way down and kicks them to the side. He picks Beyoncé up; she wraps her legs around his waist and he’s pressing her back against the wall, gripping her thighs tightly. 

 

“You sure you want this?” Drake asks.

 

Beyoncé sucks marks into Drake’s neck that are sure to show in the morning. “Please,” she pleads quietly. 

 

Slowly, Drake presses into her, and he hears her breathe out harshly. He’s wrapped in a tight, silky heat and chills run up and down his spine. He feels as if he’s truly at home. He rocks his hips lazily. Her hips shift to meet his as if she wants him to stop taking things slow, and he moans.

 

As he leans down to leave a trail of kisses on Beyoncé’s shoulder, a dreamy sigh comes from her, nails sinking into his shoulders. “I love you,” she murmurs. “You’re so good to me.”

 

Hearing Beyoncé’s praise makes Drake bite his lip hard and thrust into her a little more roughly. She strengthens her grip on his shoulders and bites out his name; they both know that they won’t last long- they don’t care. The only thing that matters to either of them is being close to the other.

 

Pale moonlight shines through the tall windows of their living room, casting shadows on Beyoncé’s face. Drake can’t help but to think that she’s celestial in every sense of the word. She fascinates him- every little thing she does leaves him amazed. The way she talks, to the way she walks, to the way she says his name, everything. To him, she was a habit he never intended to break.

 

He picks up the pace; deep, quick, calculated strokes send her into a frenzy.

 

“Aubrey, please,” Beyoncé whines, breathing ragged. “Fuck.”

 

The cold air in the room does nothing to the heat that their bodies share as they’re pressed together, sweating as they move rhythmically. Drake feels as if he were made specifically to be in this moment with Beyoncé; her head drops to his shoulder as he angles his hips and starts hitting her g-spot continuously.

 

She moans into the crook of his neck and her grip on his shoulders tightens. He swears that he could break under her touch- in fact, he thinks he already has. 

 

“How often did you think of me- of us- like this while I was gone?” Drake asks in a low voice. 

 

His question is followed by a soft whine as Beyoncé nips at the skin on his shoulder. “Every night,” she moans hoarsely. “Every single night.”

 

“Was it something like this? Me, fucking you like I know you love for me to- like I never even left, showing you what you missed out on all these months, giving you what you know you need,” Drake says, hips snapping to meet hers; he’s stopped caring about taking things slow. “And then there’s you; holding onto me, saying my name, wrapped around my finger. Fuck. Look at me.”

 

She cups his face in her hands, thumbs brushing up against the stubble there as she looks into his eyes. “I’m so close,” is all Drake can manage to discern amongst everything else that’s coming out of Beyoncé’s mouth.  He digs his fingers into her thighs harshly, his thrusts rough and erratic, and her hips move quickly to meet his. 

Without warning, Beyoncé comes, and slurred, strangled cries fill Drake’s ears as he rides her out through her orgasm. He takes in shallow breaths and groans as he feels her tighten around him; he can feel a familiar pressure building in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Should’ve asked this before,” Drake begins, “are you still on-”

 

Beyoncé nods quickly. “Go ahead, baby.”

 

Drake thrusts into her sloppily, burying his face into her shoulder, and she whimpers at the overstimulation. 

 

“Fuck, I love you,” he says. After he gets the words out, he comes, heart pounding in his ears and pure adrenaline rushing through his veins. He feels as if he’s full of electricity, and he wonders if he’d be buzzing if someone looked at him, even though he knows that’s absurd. He takes a moment to catch his breath, planting open-mouthed kisses on Beyoncé’s shoulders and neck before he pulls out and lets her down gently.

 

Wordlessly, she gets on her knees in front of him, firmly planting her hands on the back of his thighs before taking the head of his cock into her mouth. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she bobs her head, and he tilts his head back, eyes closed, and curses at the high ceiling of the room in a whisper. When she takes him all the way down her throat, he has to politely thank her for her eager attitude but ask her to stop because of how sensitive he is.

 

Beyoncé stands to her feet and wraps her arms around Drake. “I love you so much,” she says, resting her head against his chest. 

 

Drake smiles and hugs her tightly.

 

“Baby,” Beyoncé says, “You’re kind of crushing me.”

 

Drake laughs. “My bad,” he says, letting go of Beyoncé. “So, where’s that surprise you were telling me about before I came home?”

 

Beyoncé grins. “Oh! Wait here,” she says, scampering off to the kitchen quickly.

 

* * *

  
  


It takes her a while to get whatever surprise she has for him, so Drake just leans against the railing of the staircase and whistles a tune or two. Just as he’s about to whistle a rendition of Alicia Keys’ “In Common,” Beyoncé comes back into the room with an armful of things.

 

“I got us some Ben and Jerry’s,” Beyoncé explains. “You’re always eating boring stuff so that you can be a walking slab of concrete. While I appreciate that- boy, do I appreciate that- I thought you’d like some ice cream. I got you a whole pint.”

 

Drake smiles. “Is it-”

 

“Rocky Road? Yes,” Beyoncé interrupts, making her way to the couch to sit down and turn the television on. “I got butter pecan for myself, and I also got us some champagne, too.”

 

“Champagne and ice cream,” Drake says as he goes to sit next to Beyoncé. “Classy.”

 

Beyoncé giggles. “I know.”

 

Their night is spent sitting on their couch with no clothes on while eating ice cream and drinking champagne. Drake lets her pick what they watch on television, and she picks  _ The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air _ , and there just so happens to be a marathon on; every single time the theme song comes on, Beyoncé has to mouth along or recite it word for word or do a strange wiggle-dance to it while she sits.

 

“Why are you like that?” Drake asks her.

 

Beyoncé turns to him and frowns. “Like what?”

 

“I don’t know,” he says with a smile on his face. “Just all, like, cute.”

 

Beyoncé leans against him and rolls her eyes. “Stop,” she says with a laugh.

 

“Alright, only if you let me have some of your ice cream,” Drake says, drinking from the bottle of champagne that sits between him and Beyoncé on the coffee table.

 

“Aubrey, you have your own ice cream right in front of you,” Beyoncé replies. “Stop asking me for my food. Also, pass me that bottle.”

 

“But yours looks a little better than mine,” Drake tells her as he passes the bottle of champagne to her. 

 

Beyoncé snorts and takes a drink. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

**Author's Note:**

> so like, i really dont.. write like This Kind Of Smut alot so you know. it was cool to branch out a lil.. but like i hope u guys enjoy it!!
> 
> also the title is from "This Is Love" by PJ Harvey! :-)


End file.
